


Touch

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 09:28:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/796636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A love story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Touch

## Touch

by Aouda Fogg

They don't belong to me. I'm just playing, but I'll put 'em back happy.

Thank you to the I-5 gang who read this, and especially to Aly who first encouraged me to do something with it.

This originally appeared in the wonderful Whispers of the Heart 8 zine. Many, many thanks to Bast for a great experience and for all her support. 

* * *

He's inside me. 

Hard. 

Hot. 

Sliding, pushing. 

Inside. Stretching, caressing. Moving. 

I can feel even the smallest motion. All of it. 

I got only a flash of his face before the sensations forced my eyes closed, my hips up. His entire body is focused on the way his body and mine are interacting. Such a distant word for something so immediate, but the way his concentration shows on his face, the burning, urgent look in his eyes, is anything but remote. It feels like another touch. 

He moves again, pushing his fingers deeper, spreading slightly, then harder and faster, opening me for his cock. I know what is coming. I want it. I want it even more than I want to feel his fingers deeper and harder against the small bundle of nerves that sends jolts of liquid fire dancing through my body. 

He twists his fingers and my feet skitter on the couch cushions trying to find purchase to push back, pull him deeper. Doesn't work. I groan, squeezing my eyes shut harder, trying not to writhe too much. He might stop, and I couldn't bear that. Quivering, I manage to support myself with my heels against the couch: just enough to provide something to push against. Anything else would take too much concentration at this point. 

The sounds coming out of me are rough and raw. He pushed me past begging eons ago. I think the only sound that makes sense is when I manage to hiss his name. It slips in frequently between groans and moans and gasps. 

Empty. 

Suddenly I'm empty. I whimper at the loss, bereft. He strokes my stomach soothingly, and a moment later, his fingers are back, wetter. Slicker. And more. He not only added lube, he added another finger. Three this time. It's tighter. He eases them in gradually, sliding out, then in, then out, almost building a pattern, but never quite. Not letting me get my bearings. The slight burn fades quickly leaving only welcome fullness in its wake. 

Christ. Please. Pleasepleaseplease. I'm sure my whole body reflects my yearning, that each square inch and each movement screams it, but he ignores all of it. Refuses to push me over the edge. 

I open my eyes and find him staring back at me, watching every reaction cross my face. The look in his eyes pulls me back towards awareness. His eyes are glowing. I can feel the desire he has locked away while he plays with me like a living entity. His face is more open than I've ever seen it, and the combination of naked desire and naked love takes away what little breath I have left and leaves me gasping. 

He grins at me, a wide bright slash in the dim room. It does nothing to calm me. It only pushes me higher. 

Bastard. 

He knows exactly what he's doing to me. He always does. 

Gloating, that's what he's doing, gloating. It only makes me want him more. 

He has me sprawled across his lap, my whole body in easy reach. I'm lolling across the cushions and him, feet almost touching the far end of the couch, my head and shoulders propped up on throw pillows just off the edge of his lap so that my ass and groin are right where he wants them. He spent many long minutes positioning me just so, adjusting my body to fit his specifications. He knew exactly what he wanted. And, as usual, he got it. 

My right hand tightens against the couch back; my left feels like it's operated by remote control as it alternates between falling limply over my head over the side of the couch and holding tight to the end bolster as if it knows it's one of the few anchors I have left. 

I wish I could see myself sprawled out before him, on his naked lap, his cock hard and hot against me, his hand under me, inside me. If I wasn't so far gone, I'd ask him to describe it, to tell me what he sees. He'd do it, his voice deep and dark as he described the way my legs keep falling open, the way my back arches, the way my body quivers as he moves, but I can't quite summon the words. 

I groan instead, preverbal, postverbal, whatever, maybe both. 

I'm so hard my cock is throbbing, waving slightly with each heartbeat. The hot spill of precome has coated the head and it teases as it cools against my much hotter skin. Another particularly deep thrust of his fingers forces more out of me; I clench my ass hard, arching up higher, higher, pulsing around his fingers. 

This time the groan is from him. 

That gives me a momentary flash of triumph, but it gets drowned out in the next instant as his free hand joins the game and moves to my nipples. They're pebbled hard and tight and his fingers feel soft even as they pinch the sensitive skin. He circles first one, then the other, sometimes going around twice or three times before switching back to the other nipple. When his hand moves away and glides down my stomach, I swear I can feel the ghost of his touch still swirling around my nipples. 

With my focus split between my ass and my nipples, I hadn't fully realized that he's almost stilled his fingers and is only occasionally flaring them and stretching me. Awareness of that fact slams though me quickly though as he runs a single finger up the length of my cock and then back down. Every single ounce of my being is now focused on the few square inches from my cock to my ass. The awareness blossoms further as he circles my balls, playing with the short hairs and sensitive folds before drifting lower. 

I can feel the sweat dripping down my face and neck soaking my hair and the pillow underneath me. I can feel my chest heave as I fight for air. I can feel my fingers and toes clench even tighter. I can even feel my throat work as groan after groan spills out of my mouth, continuous now. None of that matters, however. It is all secondary to the feel of his fingers working their way back up my cock and dancing around the swollen head, spreading the slick wetness around. 

Finally, finally, finally, he wraps his hot fingers around my shaft and jacks me hard once, twice, and thrusts his other hand harder against me, once, twice. And that's all it takes. I'm gone. 

Gone. 

Bursting, falling, spilling, clenching. 

I arch so hard only my head and heels stay in contact with pillow or couch. 

He stays with me the entire time, both hands urging me higher and urging me over wave after wave of mind-blowing sensation. 

I feel like he's never been deeper inside of me. And that I've never been deeper inside him. 

My groans turn to sobs as I come for him. 

When I come to, when the sparks fade from behind my eyes and my breath has calmed, I am lying under him. He is holding me close against his chest, both arms underneath me. I love it when he does that. We look at each other. I can see everything I'm feeling reflected back to me in his eyes. 

My voice is hoarse, but I only have to say one word. "Now." 

"Yes!" He groans back. 

This time his cock fills me, not his fingers. We rock together hard, each thrust sending echoing sparks up and down my spine. 

I can feel his rhythm falter and I goad him on by tightening around his cock in counterpoint to each of his thrusts. I want to tease him as ruthlessly as he has teased me. I want to torment him and make him come harder than he's ever come in his life. 

Wrapping my arms tightly around his neck, I pull him down for a hot, sliding kiss, our first since he arranged me across his lap. The change in angle sends him even deeper inside me, if that is possible, and I bite him lightly, playing, nudging. I take as much of his mouth as I can. 

It is enough. 

He falls over the edge, thrusting raggedly and jetting deep inside me over and over. He fills me. 

He's inside me. 

* * *

End Touch by Aouda Fogg: aoudafogg@yahoo.com

Author and story notes above.

  
Disclaimer: _The Sentinel_ is owned etc. by Pet Fly, Inc. These pages and the stories on them are not meant to infringe on, nor are they endorsed by, Pet Fly, Inc. and Paramount. 


End file.
